A Touch Of Darkness

30 || Dying Flame

"Nathan? May I come in?"

A rustle of the tent flap accompanies Sarielle's tentative voice. It may prick at my senses gently, but I still flinch at the sound of it, biting down on my gasp as I lunge forward.

"Come in!" I yell, then immediately regret replying so soon as my second glove catches on the side of my hand. I just about manage to yank it fully over my palm, still skewed over the fingers, before the flap lifts and Sarielle slips in past it. It falls behind her, forming a dimmed white backdrop.

Her brows draw in. "What are you doing?"

Adjusting the glove, I allow a shallow sigh of relief as the leather settles over my skin. Then I glance up again and tense. I'm lying on my stomach, the soles of my boots pushing into the tent's side.

Hurriedly, I push up from the ground and tuck my knees in under me, adopting a slightly more normal seated position. "Nothing."

Her lips twitch. My hand drifts to the cloth on my arm, checking it is still secure, keeping my touch light so she won't realise that the skin beneath is no longer tender. At least the remaining bloodstains help to hide the newly sealed wound.

I shouldn't have given into the temptation. I should have kept my promise to myself to deal with this injury without aid from my flame. But in the lonely silence, its throb returned, and I couldn't resist the impulse to soothe it. After all, if I have the ability, why waste it? No-one else has to know. There's no need to suffer pain unnecessarily.

Even with that, the sight of her knots guilt in my stomach. I hold the arm at my back, hidden from view.

Stepping in further, she crouches down opposite me. She's removed her armour, and now is dressed simply in a white tunic, similar to what the healers wear. It must be standard soldier attire. Outlined in gold is the faded symbol of a bird, large wings spread as it glides from her left shoulder.

Instinctively, I move to touch the identical symbol that marks my own tunic, shaped with a little more clarity. Harper fetched it from a larger tent on the way here. It hangs loosely off me, too long and baggy, and the itchy material is a little too thick for my liking, but it's all they have. Part of me misses the lighter ease of my black clothes, but that doesn't belong anymore. A gift from Neyaibet hardly works when amongst Oscensi soldiers. This white makes me one of them, just like her.

"Thank you." I already said it to Harper, but she deserves to hear it too. A thousand times over. More than she knows.

"What for?" She settles back on her heels.

"For, well..." I trace the weave of my tunic, descending from the bird. For everything. "For letting me stay here, and travel with you."

She glances down. "That's Dalton's decision, not mine."

"But you stood up for me. You didn't have to do that. So..." My hand finds the back of my neck, rubbing over the flushed skin. "Thanks."

"I didn't like the idea of you being alone, that's all." Her sky-coloured eyes flick briefly to me before returning to the ground. My breath hitches.

"Well, thank you. For that. Thanks." A nervous laugh battles its way out of my throat. "I should stop saying that."

"You should." Laughter of her own laces her tone, warmed by her playful smile. "Or you can come out and say it to the others. I came to ask if you wanted to join us for our evening campfire."

My fingers interlock as I look down, picking at the glove's silver decoration. I sense Sarielle's gaze flit to them and hastily part my hands, suddenly conscious of how odd the gloves must appear, how they break the white monotony of the rest of my new clothes. I've had enough close calls and interactions to last the day. Night is darkening the skies outside. I should stay where it's safe, remain hidden in my tent before some quirk like the gloves or my mask gets picked up on and the truth writhes a little closer to the surface. They can't know. If they struggle to take me in as I am now, they won't accept who I truly hide.